The first time is always the hardest
by Nikolaos
Summary: Clint is nine years old, Natasha is fourteen. She is learning to blend in, he is learning to survive. One possibility of how Clint and Natasha first met and how Clint was set on the path that made him into the man he is today.


**AN:** This is just a quick one shot that I couldn't get out of my head. It's a possible AU of how Clint and Natasha first met, more of a what if situation. Anyone who is reading 'Looking for Hawkeye' I will be updating soon.

-A-

Clint stared down at the blood that covered his fingers and the knife that he held. The blood dripped steadily from the blade and onto the hardwood flooring, mixing with the blood pooling from around Mr Osborne. He was dead. Mr Osborne, the warden was dead. He'd killed him.

Clint started to shake, gasping when his pain spiked through his chest. He'd had broken ribs before, he knew what it felt like. Gripping his side with his free hand he took a step back away from the growing puddle of blood that was inching quickly towards his shoes.

"Do not drop the knife," said a quiet voice from the doorway of the office.

Clint flinched, his grip on the knife tightening as he turned to look at the person who had spoken. A young girl with bright red hair was standing in the doorway with her arms folded as she leant against the doorframe. She was looking at him like what he'd just done was completely normal.

"I..."

"He was a bad man," said the girl.

"I..."

The girl, Natasha that was her name. She'd arrived at the orphanage three weeks ago remembered Clint. She never talked to anyone and sometimes she didn't even answer when people called her name. Almost like she didn't remember what it was.

Natasha walked towards him, stepping around the dead man without even glancing down. She gripped Clint's hand that was holding the knife, ignoring the blood that now covered both of their hands. Kneeling down she forced Clint to follow her. He tried to resist, but the older girl was stronger than him. If Clint remembered correctly she was the same age as Barney. But like him, she was small for her age. Right now though it was like struggling with his brother. He had no way of getting free.

Natasha guided him towards the body, forcing him to wipe clean the blade on a part of the man's shirt that was free from blood.

"Always clean the blade afterwards," Natasha instructed as she looked at Clint.

"I didn't mean to," mumbled Clint.

"Yes, you did. He was a bad man. He was going to hurt you," Natasha stood up. "He did hurt you." She touched the cut above his left eyebrow. He winced as she wiped away the blood trail that was beginning to slide down the side of his face.

"But I..."

"Hush, we have work to do."

"What?" asked Clint in confusion. "I...I need to find Barney. I need to call the police."

"Don't be silly. Your idiot of a brother cannot help you, and the police," the girl shrugged. "You are a damaged little boy; they won't listen to what you say. They do not care."

Clint's breathing hitched at the full realisation of what he'd done hit him. He'd killed a man. He was just as bad as his daddy. He was going to be sent to jail. He'd never see Barney again. He...

"I can help you get out of here," said Natasha quietly interrupting his train of thoughts.

"How?" asked Clint looking up at her.

"Easy, we burn the place to the ground," smirked Natasha.

"What? But what about everybody else?" asked Clint in concern. The look Natasha was giving him was starting to scare him. How was she not horrified by all of this?

"What about them?"

Clint opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. This girl really was odd if she didn't see that other people would get hurt if they set a fire. He'd killed one man; he didn't want to kill anybody else.

"You want to save them? After everything they've done to you?" Natasha touched the scabs covering Clint's knuckles which he'd gained in a fight the previous day. It wasn't the first fight she had watched him get into and she doubted it would be the last. This boy was very stubborn.

"Fine," she shrugged. "Go to the shed and get the gasoline that is used for the lawnmowers. Bring as much as you can back here." She pushed him towards the door before calling to him. "And Clint, do not let go of that knife."

Clint nodded before running out of the room. Maybe Natasha really did know what she was doing. He wondered what had happened to land Natasha in the orphanage.

Natasha sighed, what was she doing here? She was supposed to be learning how to be American. Not saving little boys.

She looked down at the body of the warden on the office floor. She wasn't lying when she'd told Clint that Mr Osborne was a bad man, and she would have killed him herself if he had tried to touch her. But he was no worse than the men who had sent her here.

She had been sent here to learn. She had not been sent here to cover up somebody else's mess. But her handlers would not like a body to be discovered, that would cast too much attention on everybody who currently lived in this place, including her alias Natasha Sokolov. So really she could justify her actions by calling it self preservation.

But a fire? A fire occurring in a building that should have been condemned years ago. Well that was just a tragedy waiting to happen. She would then be able to disappear in all the confusion and meet her handler at the rendezvous point exactly like planned in five weeks time. The authorities would assume that she had been killed in the fire, or ran away. She didn't doubt that others would be killed in the fire, no matter what she told Clint.

Pulling open the bottom draw of the warden's desk she pulled out the two bottles of whiskey she knew he kept there. Pouring one bottle on the body she then used the other to spread around the room. Paying particular attention to the curtains and the walls.

Pulling open the filing cabinets she started scattering the files that Mr Osborne kept on each of the residents around the room. No trace that her or Clint were ever in this room would survive. Anything that could burn was laid out, anything that wouldn't immediately catch fire, like the desk had alcohol poured over it to help it burn.

"I got the cans," said Clint quietly from the doorway.

Natasha turned around to look at the younger boy. Amazed that he had managed to carry two cans up here. The knife was tucked into his belt at the side of his waist. For a nine year old he was strong. Smart too, he'd put the knife in a position so he wouldn't be in danger of stabbing himself.

"Start pouring them in the hallways, coat the floors and the walls," Natasha instructed.

"What about the other kids?" asked Clint quietly.

Natasha looked up at the ceiling as she sighed. Why? Why was she putting up with this? She should just kill the kid and set the fire herself. But there was something about the youngest Barton brother that she liked. He was one of the smallest kids in this place, got beat up more times than most. Yet he never gave up. He always fought back. The only thing she couldn't understand was his devotion to his older brother. Barney used Clint, and when the warden had come after Clint, Barney no was no where around. Natasha didn't know a lot about families but according to all the books and films, families were meant to look out for each other.

Turning to look at Clint she gave a slight smile. He should have lost this fight; in fact he should have died. He'd defended himself with deadly force against a person three times his size and he'd won. He was a survivor.

"Leave a clear path to the back door, there won't be much time but if they listen they will be okay. Now go, time is running out."

Clint walked out of the room with a small nod. Shaking her head she bent down and pulled out the warden's lighter from his jeans back pocket. Taking one of the file folders she walked towards the door before lighting the paper and dropping it to the door. The room went up in flames immediately.

Walking down the hallway she met up with Clint who was guiding the other children towards the back door.

"Come on," Natasha grabbed Clint by the collar and steered the kid out of the building and around to the front where people were gathering. She didn't understand why some people were crying. Tears wouldn't help anybody.

"I didn't see Barney," said Clint quietly. Natasha rolled her eyes at the boy's comment. Maybe the concept of family would be something she would never understand.

"Clint!" Shouted an older boy running up the street. "You alright? What the hell happened?"

Barney pulled Clint out of Natasha's grip and looked his brother over. Natasha took a step back and watched the two brothers. Maybe she had been wrong? Barney was showing the first sign that he actually cared about Clint that Natasha had seen. Maybe he really did care.

"Where'd you get the blade, kid?" asked Barney when he was satisfied that Clint was okay.

Clint looked down at his feet, not answering.

"Clint solved a problem," said Natasha quietly, answering for him.

Barney looked at Natasha for the first time since he'd arrived. She shrugged, understanding passing between the two teens without a question needed to be asked.

"He needs not to be here."

Barney smirked, "Sorted, we were leaving anyway."

"What about you?" asked Clint looking up at Natasha.

"I am leaving too," smiled Natasha as she knelt down in front of Clint and put her hands on his shoulders. "You have to be strong. Just like you were tonight. You are a survivor, Clint. Remember that."

Natasha stood up and started walking away from the brothers and the fire before the emergency services arrived. Now, in all the confusion was the perfect time to disappear. Nobody would notice that she was gone for many hours to come, by which point she would be many miles away.

"Nat?" called Clint.

Natasha turned around and looked at the younger boy in surprise. Had Clint just given her a nickname? She'd never had a nickname before.

"Thank you," he smiled awkwardly.

Natasha couldn't help but smile in return. "Remember Clint, do not drop the knife. Keep it with you." She turned then and walked away without looking back.

-A-

Natasha watched as the security force dragged away an unconscious Clint. She let out a deep breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. She almost missed the words Fury said next over the comm. line. _They called it._

Gritting her teeth, she tried to keep her emotions in check. It would do nobody any good if she broke down now. She was the Black Widow for god's sake. Crying never helped anybody.

Turning she went to follow after Barton, when something shiny caught her eye. Looking more closely she realised it was the knife Clint had tried to stab her with. Bending to pick it up, she recognised which knife it was.

"Don't drop the knife," she muttered to herself. Why on earth would he have this knife on his person when on duty? It wasn't even balanced correctly. As she turned it over in her hand she noticed something different, something that wasn't there twenty years ago. A crudely etched word was scratched into the hilt.

_SURVIVE_

Smiling to herself, she gripped the knife tighter. Yes, Clint Barton had always been a survivor.

-A-


End file.
